But one morning he made his appearance, coming to the house quite
abruptly.

"I am glad to find you by yourself," said he, "for I have some awkward
news."

Kate looked at him surprised.

"I have just been ordered on duty," he continued, "and the order is most
unwelcome. A brig came in last night and brought letters, and the
Governor sent for me this morning. I have just left him. The cruise I am
about to take may not be a long one, but I cannot leave port without
coming here to you and speaking to you of something which is nearer to
my heart than any thought of service, or in fact of anything else."

"Speaking to my uncle, you mean," said Kate, now much disturbed, for she
saw in the captain's eyes what he wished to talk of.

"Away with uncles!" he exclaimed; "we can speak with them by-and-bye;
now my words are for you. You may think me hasty, but we gentlemen
serving the king cannot afford to wait; and so, without other pause, I
say, sweet Mistress Kate, I love you, better than I have ever loved
woman; better than I can ever love another. Nay, do not answer; I must
tell you everything before you reply." And to the pale girl he spoke of
his family, his prospects, and his hopes. In the warmest colours he laid
before her the life and love he would give her. Then he went quickly on:
"This is but a little matter which is given to my charge, and it may not
engage me long; I am going out in search of a pirate, and I shall make
short work of him. The shorter, having such good reason to get quickly
back.

"In fact, he is not a real pirate anyway, being but a country gentleman
tiring of his rural life and liking better to rob, burn, and murder on
the high seas. He has already done so much damage, that if his evil
career be not soon put an end to good people will be afraid to voyage in
these waters. So I am to sail in haste after this fellow Bonnet; but
before--"

Kate's face had grown so white that it seemed to recede from her great
eyes. "He is my father," said she, "but I had not heard until now that
he is a pirate!"

The captain started from his chair. "What!" he cried, "your father? Yes,
I see. It did not strike me until this instant that the names are the
same."

Kate rose, and as she spoke her voice was not full and clear as it was
wont to be. "He is my father," she said, "but he sailed away without
telling me his errand; but now that I know everything, I must--" If she
had intended to say she must go, she changed her mind, and even came
closer to the still astounded captain. "You say that you will make short
work of his vessel; do you mean that you will destroy it, and will you
kill him?"


[Illustration: "He is my father!" said Kate.]

Captain Vince looked down upon her, his face filled with the liveliest
emotions. "My dear young lady," he said, and then he stopped as if
not knowing what words to use. But as he looked into her eyes fixed
upon his own and waiting for his answer, his love for her took
possession of him and banished all else. "Kill him," he exclaimed,
"never! He shall be as safe in my hands as if he were walking in his own
fields. Kill your father, dearest? Loving you as I do, that would be
impossible. I may take the rascals who are with him, I may string them
up to the yard-arm, or I may sink their pirate ship with all of them in
it, but your father shall be safe. Trust me for that; he shall come to
no harm from me."

She stepped a little way from him, and some of her colour came back. For
some moments she looked at him without speaking, as if she did not
exactly comprehend what he had said.

"Yes, my dear," he continued, "I must crush out that piratical crew, for
such is my duty as well as my wish, but your father I shall take under
my protection; so have no fear about him, I beg you. With his ship and
his gang of scoundrels taken away from him, he can no longer be a
pirate, and you and I will determine what we shall do with him."

"You mean," said Kate, speaking slowly, "that for my sake you will
shield my father from the punishment which will be dealt out to his
companions?"

He smiled, and his face beamed upon her. "What blessed words," he
exclaimed. "Yes, for your sake, for your sweet, dear sake I will do
anything; and as for this matter, I assure you there are so many ways--"

"You mean," she interrupted, "that for my sake you will break your oath
of office, that you will be a traitor to your service and your king?
That for my sake you will favour the fortunes of a pirate whom you are
sent out to destroy? Mean it if you please, but you will not do it. I
love my father, and would fain do anything to save him and myself from
this great calamity, but I tell you, sir, that for my sake no man shall
do himself dishonour!"

Without power to say another word, nor to keep back for another second
the anguish which raged within her, she fled like a bird and was gone.

The captain stretched out his arms as if he would seize her; he rushed
to the door through which she had passed, but she was gone. He followed
her, shouting to the startled servants who came; he swore, and demanded
to see their mistress; he rushed through rooms and corridors, and even
made as if he would mount the stairs. Presently a woman came to him, and
told him that under no circumstances could Mistress Bonnet now be seen.

But he would not leave the house. He called for writing materials, but
in an instant threw down the pen. Again he called a servant and sent a
message, which was of no avail. Dame Charter would have gone down to
him, but Kate was in her arms. For several minutes the furious officer
stood by the chair in which Kate had been sitting; he could not
comprehend the fact that this girl had discarded and had scorned him.
And yet her scorn had not in the least dampened the violence of his
love. As she stood and spoke her last bitter words, the grandeur of her
beauty had made him speechless to defend himself.

He seized his hat and rushed from the house; hot, and with blazing eyes,
he appeared in the counting-room of Mr. Delaplaine, and there, to that
astounded merchant, he told, with brutal cruelty, of his orders to
destroy the pirate Bonnet, his niece's father; and then he related the
details of his interview with that niece herself.

Mr. Delaplaine's countenance, at first shocked and pained, grew
gradually sterner and colder. Presently he spoke. "I will hear no more
such words, Captain Vince," he said, "regarding the members of my
family. You say my niece knows not what fortune she trifles with; I
think she does. And when she told you she would not accept the offer of
your dishonour, I commend her every word."

Captain Vince frowned black as night, and clapped his hand to his
sword-hilt; but the pale merchant made no movement of defence, and the
captain, striking his clinched fist against the table, dashed from the
room. Before he reached his ship he had sworn a solemn oath: he vowed
that he would follow that pirate ship; he would kill, burn, destroy,
annihilate, but out of the storm and the fire he would pick unharmed the
father of the girl who had entranced him and had spurned him. He laughed
savagely as he thought of it. With that dolt of a father in his hands, a
man wearing always around his neck the hangman's noose, he would hold
the card which would give him the game. What Mistress Kate Bonnet might
say or do; what she might like or might not like; what her ideas about
honour might be or might not be, it would be a very different thing when
he, her imperious lover, should hold the end of that noose in his hand.
She might weep, she might rave, but come what would, she was the man's
daughter, and she would be Lady Vince.

So he went on board the Badger, and he cursed and he commanded and he
raged; and his officers and his men, when the hurried violence of his
commands gave them a chance to speak to each other, muttered that they
pitied that pirate and his crew when the Badger came up with them.

Clouds settled down upon the home of Mr. Delaplaine. There were no
visitors, there was no music, there seemed to be no sunshine. The
beautiful fabrics, the jewels, and the feathers were seen no more. It
was Kate of the broken heart who wandered under the trees and among the
blossoms, and knew not that there existed such things as cooling shade
and sweet fragrance. She could not be comforted, for, although her uncle
told her that he had had information that her father's ship had sailed
northward, and that it was, therefore, likely that the corvette would
not overtake him, she could not forget that, whatever of good or evil
befell that father, he was a pirate, and he had deserted her.

So they said but little, the uncle and the niece, who sorrowed quietly.

Dame Charter was in a strange state of mind. During the frequent visits
of Captain Vince she had been apprehensive and troubled, and her only
comfort was that the Badger had merely touched at this port to refit,
and that she must soon sail away and take with her her captain. The good
woman had begun to expect and to hope for the return of Dickory, but
later she had blessed her stars that he was not there. He was a fiery
boy, her brave son, but it would have been a terrible thing for him to
become involved with an officer in the navy, a man with a long, keen
sword.

Now that the captain had raged himself away from the Delaplaine house
her spirits rose, and her great fear was that the corvette might not
leave port before the brig came in. If Dickory should hear of the things
that captain had said--but she banished such thoughts from her mind, she
could not bear them.

After some days the corvette sailed, and the Governor spoke well of the
diligence and ardour which had urged Captain Vince to so quickly set out
upon his path of duty.

"When Dickory comes back," said Dame Charter to Kate, "he may bring some
news to cheer your poor heart, things get so twisted in the telling."

Kate shook her head. "Dickory cannot tell me anything now," she said,
"that I care to know, knowing so much. My father is a pirate, and a
king's ship has gone out to destroy him, and what could Dickory tell me
that would cheer me?"

But Dame Charter's optimism was beginning to take heart again and to
spread its wings.

"Ah, my dear, you don't know what good things do in this life
continually crop up. A letter from your father, possibly withheld by
that wicked Madam Bonnet--which is what Dickory and I both think--or
some good words from the town that your father has sold his ship, and is
on his way home. Nobody knows what good news that Dickory may bring with
him."

The poor girl actually smiled. She was young, and in the heart of youth
there is always room for some good news, or for the hope of them.

But the smile vanished altogether when she went to her room and wrote a
letter to Martin Newcombe. In this letter, which was a long one, she
told her lover how troubled she had been. That she had nothing now to
ask him about the bad news he had, in his kindness, forborne to tell
her, and that when he saw Dickory Charter he might say to him from her
that there was no need to make any further inquiries about her father;
she knew enough, and far too much--more, most likely, than any one in
Bridgetown knew. Then she told him of Captain Vince and the dreadful
errand of the corvette Badger.

Having done this, Kate became as brave as any captain of a British
man-of-war, and she told her lover that he must think no more of her; it
was not for him to pay court to the daughter of a pirate. And so, she
blessed him and bade him farewell.

When she had signed and sealed this letter she felt as if she had torn
out a chapter of her young life and thrown it upon the fire.




CHAPTER XI

BAD WEATHER


When Dickory Charter sailed away from the island of Jamaica, his reason,
had it been called upon, would have told him that he had a good stout
brig under him on which there were people and ropes and sails and
something to eat and drink. But in those moments of paradise he did not
trouble his reason very much, and lived in an atmosphere of joy which he
did not attempt to analyze, but was content to breathe as if it had been
the common air about him. He was going away from every one he loved, and
yet never before had he been so happy in going to any one he loved. He
cared to talk to no one on board, but in company with his joy he stood
and gazed westward out over the sea.

He was but little younger than she was, and yet that difference, so
slight, had lifted him from things of earth and had placed him in that
paradise where he now dwelt.

So passed on the hours, so rolled the waves, and so moved the King and
Queen before the favouring breeze.

It was on the second day out that the breeze began to be less favouring,
and there were signs of a storm; and, in spite of his preoccupied
condition, Dickory was obliged to notice the hurried talk of the
officers about him, he occupying a point of vantage on the quarter-deck.
Presently he turned and asked of some one if there was likelihood of bad
weather. The mate, to whom he had spoken, said somewhat unpleasantly,
"Bad weather enough, I take it, as we may all soon know; but it is not
wind or rain. There is bad weather for you! Do you see that?"

Dickory looked, and saw far away, but still distinct, a vessel under
full sail with a little black spot floating high above it.

He turned to the man for explanation. "And what is that?" he said.

"It is a pirate ship," said the other, his face hardening as he spoke,
"and it will soon be firing at us to heave to."

At that moment there was a flash at the bow of the approaching vessel, a
little smoke, and then the report of a cannon came over the water.

Without further delay, the captain and crew of the King and Queen went
to work and hove to their brig.

Young Dickory Charter also hove to. He did not know exactly why, but his
dream stopped sailing over a sea of delight. They stood motionless,
their sails flapping in the wind.

"Pirates!" he thought to himself, cold shivers running through him, "is
this brig to be taken? Am I to be taken? Am I not to go to Barbadoes, to
Bridgetown, her home? Am I not to take her back the good news which will
make her happy? Are these things possible?"

He stared over the water, he saw the swiftly approaching vessel, he
could distinguish the skull and bones upon the black flag which flew
above her.

These things were possible, and his heart fell; but it was not with
fear. Dickory Charter was as bold a fellow as ever stood on the deck in
a sea fight, but his heart fell at the thought that he might not be
going to her old home, and that he might not sail back with good news to
her.

As the swift-sailing pirate ship sped on, Ben Greenway came aft to
Captain Bonnet, and a grievous grin was on the Scotchman's face.

"Good greetin's to ye, Master Bonnet," said he, "ye're truly good to
your old friends an' neebours an' pass them not by, even when your
pockets are burstin' wi' Spanish gold."

A minute before this Captain Stede Bonnet had been in a very pleasant
state of mind. It was only two days ago that he had captured a Spanish
ship, from which he got great gain, including considerable stores of
gold. Everything of value had been secured, the tall galleon had been
burned, and its crew had been marooned on a barren spot on the coast of
San Domingo. The spoils had been divided, at least every man knew what
his share was to be, and the officers and the crew of the Revenge were
in a well-contented state of mind. In fact, Captain Bonnet would not
have sailed after a little brig, certainly unsuited to carry costly
cargo, had it not been that his piratical principle made it appear to
him a point of conscience to prey upon all mercantile craft, little or
big, which might come in his way. Thus it was, that he was sailing
merrily after the King and Queen, when Ben Greenway came to him with his
disturbing words.

"What mean you?" cried Bonnet. "Know you that vessel?"

"Ay, weel," said Ben, "it is the King and Queen, bound, doubtless, for
Bridgetown. I tell ye, Master Bonnet, that it was a great deal o'
trouble an' expense ye put yersel' to when ye went into your present
line o' business on this ship. Ye could have stayed at hame, where she
is owned, an' wi' these fine fellows that ye have gathered thegither, ye
might have robbed your neebours right an' left wi'out the trouble o'
goin' to sea."

"Ben Greenway," roared the captain, "I will have no more of this. Is it
not enough for me to be annoyed and worried by these everlasting ships
of Bridgetown, which keep sailing across my bows, no matter in what
direction I go, without hearing your jeers and sneers regarding the
matter? I tell you, Ben Greenway, I will not have it. I will not suffer
these paltry vessels, filled, perhaps, with the grocers and cloth
dealers from my own town, to interfere thus with the bold career that I
have chosen. I tell you, Ben Greenway, I'll make an example of this one.
I am a pirate, and I will let them know it--these fellows in their
floating shops. It will be a fair and easy thing to sink this tub
without more ado. I'd rather meet three Spanish ships, even had they
naught aboard, than one of these righteous craft commanded by my most
respectable friends and neighbours."

Black Paul, the sailing-master, had approached and had heard the greater
part of these remarks.

"Better board her and see what she carries," said he, "before we sink
her. The men have been talking about her and, many of them, favour not
the trouble of marooning those on board of her. So, say most of us,
let's get what we can from her, and then quickly rid ourselves of her
one way or another."

"'Tis well!" cried Bonnet, "we can riddle her hull and sink her."

"Wi' the neebours on board?" asked Greenway.

Captain Bonnet scowled blackly.

"Ben Greenway," he shouted, "it would serve you right if I tied you
hand and foot and bundled you on board that brig, after we have stripped
her, if haply she have anything on board we care for."

"An' then sink her?" asked the Scotchman.

"Ay, sink her!" replied Bonnet. "Thus would I rid myself of a man who
vexes me every moment that I lay my eyes on him, and, moreover, it would
please you; for you would die in the midst of those friends and
neighbours you have such a high regard for. That would put an end to
your cackle, and there would be no gossip in the town about it."

The sailing-master now came aft. The vessel had been put about and was
slowly approaching the brig. "Shall we make fast?" asked Black Paul. "If
we do we shall have to be quick about it; the sea is rising, and that
clumsy hulk may do us damage."

For a moment Captain Bonnet hesitated, he was beginning to learn
something of the risks and dangers of a nautical life, and here was real
danger if the two vessels ran nearer each other. Suddenly he turned and
glared at Greenway. "Make fast!" he cried savagely, "make fast! if it be
only for a minute."

"Do ye think in your heart," asked the Scotchman grimly, "that ye're
pirate enough for that?"




CHAPTER XII

FACE TO FACE


With her head to the wind the pirate vessel Revenge bore down slowly
upon the King and Queen, now lying to and awaiting her. The stiff breeze
was growing stiffer and the sea was rising. The experienced eye of Paul
Bittern, the sailing-master of the pirate, now told him that it would be
dangerous to approach the brig near enough to make fast to her, even for
the minute which Captain Bonnet craved--the minute which would have been
long enough for a couple of sturdy fellows to toss on board the prize
that exasperating human indictment, Ben Greenway.

"We cannot do it," shouted Black Paul to Bonnet, "we shall run too near
her as it is. Shall we let fly at short range and riddle her hull?"

Captain Bonnet did not immediately answer; the situation puzzled him. He
wanted very much to put the Scotchman on board the brig, and after that
he did not care what happened. But before he could speak, there appeared
on the rail of the King and Queen, holding fast to a shroud, the figure
of a young man, who put his hand to his mouth and hailed:

"Throw me a line! Throw me a line!"

Such an extraordinary request at such a time naturally amazed the
pirates, and they stood staring, as they crowded along the side of their
vessel.

"If you are not going to board her," shouted Dickory again, "throw me a
line!"

Filled with curiosity to know what this strange proceeding meant, Black
Paul ordered that a line be thrown, and, in a moment, a tall fellow
seized a coil of light rope and hurled it through the air in the
direction of the brig; but the rope fell short, and the outer end of it
disappeared beneath the water. Now the spirit of Black Paul was up. If
the fellow on the brig wanted a line he wanted to come aboard, and if he
wanted to come aboard, he should do so. So he seized a heavier coil and,
swinging it around his head, sent it, with tremendous force, towards
Dickory, who made a wild grab at it and caught it.

Although a comparatively light line, it was a long one, and the slack of
it was now in the water, so that Dickory had to pull hard upon it before
he could grasp enough of it to pass around his body. He had scarcely
done this, and had made a knot in it, before a lurch of the brig brought
a strain on the rope, and he was incontinently jerked overboard.

The crew of the merchantman, who had not had time to comprehend what the
young fellow was about to do, would have grasped him had he remained on
the rail a moment longer, but now he was gone into the sea, and, working
vigorously with his legs and arms, was endeavouring to keep his head
above water while the pirates at the other end of the rope pulled him
swiftly towards their vessel.

Great was the excitement on board the Revenge. Why should a man from a
merchantman endeavour, alone, to board a vessel which flew the Jolly
Roger? Did he wish to join the crew? Had they been ill-treating him on
board the brig? Was he a criminal endeavouring to escape from the
officers of the law? It was impossible to answer any of these questions,
and so the swarthy rascals pulled so hard and so steadily upon the line
that the knot in it, which Dickory had not tied properly, became a
slipknot, and the poor fellow's breath was nearly squeezed out of him as
he was hauled over the rough water. When he reached the vessel's side
there was something said about lowering a ladder, but the men who were
hauling on the line were in a hurry to satisfy their curiosity, so up
came Dickory straight from the water to the rail, and that proceeding
so increased the squeezing that the poor fellow fell upon the deck
scarcely able to gasp. When the rope was loosened the half-drowned and
almost breathless Dickory raised himself and gave two or three deep
breaths, but he could not speak, despite the fact that a dozen rough
voices were asking him who he was and what he wanted.

With the water pouring from him in streams, and his breath coming from
him in puffs, he looked about him with great earnestness.

Suddenly a man rushed through the crowd of pirates and stooped to look
at the person who had so strangely come aboard. Then he gave a shout.
"It is Dickory Charter," he cried, "Dickory Charter, the son o' old Dame
Charter! Ye Dickory! an' how in the name o' all that's blessed did ye
come here? Master Bonnet! Master Bonnet!" he shouted to the captain, who
now stood by, "it is young Dickory Charter, of Bridgetown. He was on
board this vessel before we sailed, wi' Mistress Kate an' me. The last
time I saw her he was wi' her."

"What!" exclaimed Bonnet, "with my daughter?"

"Ay, ay!" said Greenway, "it must have been a little before she went on
shore."

"Young man!" cried Bonnet, stooping towards Dickory, "when did you last
see my daughter? Do you know anything of her?"

The young man opened his mouth, but he could not yet do much in the way
of speaking, but he managed to gasp, "I come from her, I am bringing you
a message."

"A message from Kate!" shouted Bonnet, now in a state of wild
excitement. "Here you, Greenway, lift up the other arm, and we will take
him to my cabin. Quick, man! Quick, man! he must have some spirits and
dry clothes. Make haste now! A message from my daughter!"

"If that's so," said Greenway, as he and Bonnet hurried the young man
aft, "ye'd better no' be in too great haste to get his message out o'
him or ye'll kill him wi' pure recklessness."

Bonnet took the advice, and before many minutes Dickory was in dry
clothes and feeling the inspiriting influence of a glass of good old
rum. Now came Black Paul, wanting to know if he should sink the brig and
be done with her, for they couldn't lie by in such weather.

"Don't you fire on that ship!" yelled Bonnet, "don't you dare it! For
all I know, my daughter may be on board of her."

At this Dickory shook his head. "No," said he, "she is not on board."

"Then let her go," cried Bonnet, "I have no time to fool with the
beggarly hulk. Let her go! I have other business here. And now, sir,"
addressing Dickory, "what of my daughter? You have got your breath now,
tell me quickly! What is your message from her? When did you sail from
Bridgetown? Did she expect me to overhaul that brig? How in the name of
all the devils could she expect that?"

"Come, come now, Master Bonnet!" exclaimed the Scotchman, "ye are
talkin' o' your daughter, the good an' beautiful Mistress Kate, an' no
matter whether ye are a pirate or no, ye must keep a guard on your
tongue. An' if ye think she knew where to find ye, ye must consider her
an angel an' no' to be spoken o' in the same breath as de'ils."

"I didn't sail from Bridgetown," said Dickory, "and your daughter is not
there. I come from Jamaica, where she now is, and was bound to
Bridgetown to seek news of you, hoping that you had returned there."

"Which, if he had," said Ben, who found it very difficult to keep quiet,
"ye would hae been under the necessity o' givin' your message to his
bones hangin' in chains."

Bonnet looked savagely at Ben, but he had no time even to curse.

"Jamaica!" he cried, "how did she get there? Tell me quickly, sir--tell
me quickly! Do you hear?"

Dickory was now quite recovered and he told his story, not too quickly,
and with much attention to details. Even the account of the unusual
manner in which he and Kate had disembarked from the pirate vessel was
given without curtailment, nor with any attention to the approving
grunts of Ben Greenway. When he came to speak of the letter which Mr.
Newcombe had written her, and which had thrown her into such despair on
account of its shortcomings, Captain Bonnet burst into a fury of
execration.

"And she never got my letter?" he cried, "and knew not what had happened
to me. It is that wife of mine, that cruel wild-cat! I sent the letter
to my house, thinking, of course, it would find my daughter there. For
where else should she be?"

"An' a maist extraordinary wise mon ye were to do that," said Ben
Greenway, "for ye might hae known, if ye had ever thought o' it at all,
that the place where your wife was, was the place where your daughter
couldna be, an' ye no' wi' her. If ye had spoke to me about it, it would
hae gone to Mr. Newcombe, an' then ye'd hae known that she'd be sure to
get it."

At this a slight cloud passed over Dickory's face, and, in spite of the
misfortunes which had followed upon the non-delivery of her father's
letter, he could not help congratulating himself that it had not been
sent to the care of that man Newcombe. He had not had time to formulate
the reasons why this proceeding would have been so distasteful to him,
but he wanted Martin Newcombe to have nothing to do with the good or bad
fortune of Mistress Kate, whose champion he had become and whose father
he had found, and to whom he was now talking, face to face.

The three talked for a long time, during which Black Paul had put the
vessel about upon her former course, and was sailing swiftly to the
north. As Dickory went on, Bonnet ceased to curse, but, over and over,
blessed his brother-in-law, as a good man and one of the few worthy to
take into his charge the good and beautiful. Stede Bonnet had always
been very fond of his daughter, and, now, as it became known to him into
what desperate and direful condition his reckless conduct had thrown
her, he loved her more and more, and grieved greatly for the troubles he
had brought upon her.

"But it'll be all right now," he cried, "she's with her good uncle, who
will show her the most gracious kindness, both for her mother's sake and
for her own; and I will see to it that she be not too heavy a charge
upon him."

"As for ye, Dickory," exclaimed Greenway, "ye're a brave boy an' will
yet come to be an' honour to yer mither's declining years an' to the
memory o' your father. But how did ye ever come to think o' boardin'
this nest o' sea-de'ils, an' at such risk to your life?"

"I did it," said Dickory simply, "because Mistress Kate's father was
here, and I was bound to come to him wherever I should find him, for
that was my main errand. They told me on the brig that it was Captain
Bonnet's ship that was overhauling us, and I vowed that as soon as she
boarded us I would seek him out and give him her message; and when I
heard that the sea was getting too heavy for you to board us, I
determined to come on board if I could get hold of a line."

"Young man," cried Bonnet, rising to his full height and swelling his
chest, "I bestow upon you a father's blessing. More than that"--and as
he spoke he pulled open a drawer of a small locker--"here's a bag of
gold pieces, and when you take my answer you shall have another like
it."

But Dickory did not reach out his hand for the money, nor did he say a
word.

"Don't be afraid," cried Bonnet. "If you have any religious scruples, I
will tell you that this gold I did not get by piracy. It is part of my
private fortune, and came as honestly to me as I now give it to you."

But Dickory did not reach out his hand.

Now up spoke Ben Greenway: "Look ye, boy," said he, "as long as there's
a chance left o' gettin' honest gold on board this vessel, I pray ye,
seize it, an' if ye're afraid o' this gold, thinkin' it may be smeared
wi' the blood o' fathers an' the tears o' mithers, I'll tell ye ane
thing, an' that is, that Master Bonnet hasna got to be so much o' a
pirate that he willna tell the truth. So I'll tak' the money for ye,
Dickory, an' I'll keep it till ye're ready to tak' it to your mither;
an' I hope that will be soon."




CHAPTER XIII

CAPTAIN BONNET GOES TO CHURCH


The pirate vessel Revenge was now bound to the coast of the Carolinas
and Virginia, and perhaps even farther north, if her wicked fortune
should favour her. The growing commerce of the colonies offered great
prizes in those days to the piratical cruisers which swarmed up and down
the Atlantic coast. To lie over for a time off the coast of Charles Town
was Captain Bonnet's immediate object, and to get there as soon as
possible was almost a necessity.

The crew of desperate scoundrels whom he had gathered together had
discovered that their captain knew nothing of navigation or the
management of a ship, and there were many of them who believed that if
Black Paul had chosen to turn the vessel's bows to the coast of South
America, Bonnet would not have known that they were not sailing
northward. Thus they had lost all respect for him, and their conduct was
kept within bounds only by the cruel punishments which he inflicted for
disobedience or general bad conduct, and which were rendered possible by
the dissensions and bad feelings among the men themselves; one clique or
faction being always ready to help punish another. Consequently, the
landsman pirate would speedily have been tossed overboard and the
command given to another, had it not been that the men were not at all
united in their opinions as to who that other should be.

There was also another very good reason for Bonnet's continuance in
authority; he was a good divider, and, so far, had been a good provider.
If he should continue to take prizes, and to give each man under him his
fair share of the plunder, the men were likely to stand by him until
some good reason came for their changing their minds. So with floggings
and irons, on deck and below, and with fair winds filling the sails
above, the Revenge kept on her way; and, in spite of the curses and
quarrels and threats which polluted the air through which the stout ship
sailed, there was always good-natured companionship wherever the
captain, Dickory, and Ben Greenway found themselves together. There
seemed to be no end to the questions which Bonnet asked about his
daughter, and when he had asked them all he began over again, and
Dickory made answer, as he had done before.

The young fellow was growing very anxious at this northern voyage, and
when he asked questions they always related to the probability of his
getting back to Jamaica with news from the father of Mistress Kate
Bonnet. The captain encouraged the hopes of an early return, and vowed
to Dickory that he would send him to Spanish Town with a letter to his
daughter just as soon as an opportunity should show itself.

When the Revenge reached the mouth of Charles Town harbour she stationed
herself there, and in four days captured three well-laden merchantmen;
two bound outward, and one going in from England.

Thus all went well, and with willing hands to man her yards and a
proudly strutting captain on her quarter-deck, the pirate ship renewed
her northward course, and spread terror and made prizes even as far as
the New England coast; and if Dickory had had any doubts that the late
reputable planter of Bridgetown had now become a veritable pirate he had
many opportunities of setting himself right. Bonnet seemed to be growing
proud of his newly acquired taste for rapacity and cruelty. Merchantmen
were recklessly robbed and burned, their crews and passengers, even
babes and women, being set on shore in some desolate spot, to perish or
survive, the pirate cared not which, and if resistance were offered,
bloody massacres or heartless drownings were almost sure to follow, and,
as his men coveted spoils and delighted in cruelty, he satisfied them to
their heart's content.

"I tell you, Dickory Charter," said he, one day, "when you see my
daughter I want you to make her understand that I am a real pirate, and
not playing at the business. She's a brave girl, my daughter Kate, and
what I do, she would have me do well and not half-heartedly, to make her
ashamed of me. And then, there is my brother-in-law, Delaplaine. I don't
believe that he had a very high opinion of me when I was a plain farmer
and planter, and I want him to think better of me now. A bold, fearless
pirate cannot be looked upon with disrespect."

Dickory groaned in his heart that this man was the father of Kate.

Turning southward, rounding the cape of Delaware, the Revenge ran up the
bay, seeking some spot where she might take in water, casting anchor
before a little town on the coast of New Jersey. Here, while some of the
men were taking in water, others of the crew were allowed to go on
shore, their captain swearing to them that if they were guilty of any
disorder they should suffer for it. "On my vessel," he swore, "I am a
pirate, but when I go on shore I am a gentleman, and every one in my
service shall behave himself as a gentleman. I beg of you to remember
that."

Agreeable to this principle, Captain Bonnet arrayed himself in a fine
suit of clothes, and without arms, excepting a genteel sword, and
carrying a cane, he landed with Ben Greenway and Dickory, and proceeded
to indulge himself in a promenade up the main street of the town.

The citizens of the place, terrified and amazed at this bold conduct of
a vessel fearlessly flying a black flag with the skull and bones, could
do nothing but await their fate. The women and children, and many of the
men, hid themselves in garrets and cellars, and those of the people who
were obliged to remain visible trembled and prayed, but Captain Stede
Bonnet walked boldly up the right-hand side of the main street waving
his cane in the air as he spoke to the people, assuring them that he and
his men came on an errand of business, seeking nothing but some fresh
water and an opportunity to stretch their legs on solid ground.

"If you have meat and drink," he cried, "bestow it freely upon my men,
tired of the unsavoury food on shipboard, and if they transgress the
laws of hospitality then I, their captain, shall be your avenger; we
want none of your goods or money, having enough in our well-laden vessel
to satisfy all your necessities, if ye have them, and to feel it not."

The men strolled along the street, swarmed into the two little taverns,
soon making away with their small stores of ale and spirits, and
accepting everything eatable offered them by the shivering citizens; but
as to violence there was none, for every man of the rascally crew bore
enmity against most of the others, and held himself ready for a chance
to report a shipmate or to break his head.

Black Paul was a powerful aid in the preservation of order among the
disorderly. Conflicts between factions of the crew were greatly feared
by him, for the schemes which happy chance had caused to now revolve
themselves in his master mind would have been sadly interfered with by
want of concord among the men of the Revenge.

Captain Bonnet, followed at a short distance by Dickory and Ben, was
interested in everything he saw. A man of intelligence and considerable
reading, it pleased him to note the peculiarities of the people of a
country which he had never visited. The houses, the shops, and even the
attire of the citizens, were novel and well worthy of his observation.
He looked over garden walls, he gazed out upon the fields which were
visible from the upper end of the street, and when he saw a man who was
able to command his speech he asked him questions.

There was a little church, standing back from the thoroughfare, its door
wide open, and this was an instant attraction to the pirate captain, who
opened the gate of the yard and walked up to it.

"That I should ever again see Master Stede Bonnet goin' into a church
was something I didna dream o', Dickory," said Ben Greenway, "it will
be a meeracle, an' I doubt if he dares to pass the door wi' his sins an'
his plunders on his head."

But Captain Bonnet did pass the door, reverentially removing his hat, if
not his crimes, as he entered. In but few ways it resembled the houses
of worship to which he had been accustomed in his earlier days, and he
gazed eagerly from side to side as he slowly walked up the central
aisle. Dickory was about to follow him, but he was suddenly jerked back
by the Scotchman, who forcibly drew him away from the door.

"Look ye," whispered Ben, speaking quickly, under great excitement,
"look ye, Dickory, Heaven has sent us our chance. He's in there safe an'
sound, an' the good angels will keep his mind occupied. I'll quietly
close the door an' turn the key, then I'll slip around to the back, an'
if there be anither door there, I'll stop it some way, if it be not
already locked. Now, Dickory boy, make your heels fly! I noticed, before
we got here, that some o' the men were makin' their way to the boats;
dash ye amang them, Dickory, an' tell them that the day they've been
longin' for, ever since they set foot on the vessel, has now come. Their
captain is a prisoner, an' they are free to hurry on board their vessel
an' carry awa wi' them a' their vile plunder."

"What!" exclaimed Dickory, speaking so earnestly that the Scotchman
pulled him farther away from the church, "do you mean that you would
leave Captain Bonnet here by himself, in a foreign town?"

"No' a bit o' it," said Ben, "I'll stay wi' him an' so will you. Now
run, Dickory!"

"Ben!" exclaimed the other, "you don't know what you are talking about!
Captain Bonnet would be seized and tried as a pirate. His blood would be
on your head, Ben!"

"I canna talk about that now," said Ben impatiently, "ye think too much
o' the man's body, Dickory, an' I am considerin' his soul."

"And I am considering his daughter," said Dickory fearlessly; "do you
suppose I am going to help to have her father hanged?" and with these
words he made a movement towards the door.

The eager Scotchman seized him. "Dickory, bethink yoursel'," said he. "I
don't want to hang him, I want to save him, body an' soul. We will get
him awa' from here after the ship has gone, he will be helpless then, he
canna be a pirate a minute longer, an' he will give up an' do what I
tell him. We can leave before there is ony talk o' trial or hangin'.
Run, Dickory, run! Ye're sinfully losin' time. Think o' his soul,
Dickory; it's his only chance!"

With a great jerk Dickory freed himself from the grasp of the Scotchman.

"It is Kate Bonnet I am thinking of!" he exclaimed, and with that he
bolted into the church.

The captain was examining the little pulpit. "Haste ye! haste ye!"
cried Dickory, "your men are all hurrying to the boats, they will leave
you behind if they can; that's what they are after."

[Illustration: "Haste ye! haste ye," cried Dickory, "they will leave you
behind."]

Bonnet turned quickly. He took in the situation in a second. With a few
bounds he was out of the church, nearly overturning Ben Greenway as he
passed him. Without a word he ran down the street, his cane thrown away,
and his drawn sword in his hand.

Dickory's warning had not come a minute too soon; one boat full of men
was pulling towards the ship, and others were hurrying in the direction
of an empty boat which awaited them at the pier. Bonnet, with Dickory
close at his heels, ran with a most amazing rapidity, while Greenway
followed at a little distance, scarcely able to maintain the speed.

"What means this?" cried Bonnet, now no longer a gentleman, but a savage
pirate, and as he spoke he thrust aside two of the men who were about to
get into the boat, and jumped in himself. "What means this?" he
thundered.

Black Paul answered quietly: "I was getting the men on board," he said,
"so as to save time, and I was coming back for you."

Bonnet glared at his sailing-master, but he did not swear at him, he was
too useful a man, but in his heart he vowed that he would never trust
Paul Bittern again, and that as soon as he could he would get rid of
him.

But when he reached the ship, three men out of each boat's crew,
selected at random to represent the rest, were tied up and flogged, the
blows being well laid on by scoundrels very eager to be brutal, even to
their own shipmates.

"Ah! Dickory, Dickory," cried Ben Greenway, as they were sailing down
the bay, "ye have loaded your soul wi' sin this day; I fear ye'll never
rise from under it. Whatever vile deeds that Major Bonnet may henceforth
be guilty o' ye'll be responsible for them a', Dickory, for every ane o'
them."

"He's bad enough, Ben," said the other, "and it's many a wicked deed he
may do yet, but I am going to carry news of him to his daughter if I
can; and what's more, I am not going to stay behind and be hanged, even
if it is in such good company as Major Bonnet and you, Ben Greenway."

Whatever should happen on the rest of that voyage; whether the
well-intentioned treachery of Ben Greenway, or the secret villainies of
the crew, should prevail; whether disaster or success should come to the
planter pirate, Dickory Charter resolved in his soul that a message from
her father should go to Kate Bonnet, and that he should carry it.

       *       *       *       *       *

The spirits of Dickory rose very much as the bow of the Revenge was
pointed southward. Every mile that the pirate vessel sailed brought him
nearer to the delivery of his message--a message which, while it told of
her father's wicked career, still told her of his safety and of his
steadfast affection for her. Indirectly, the bringing of such a message,
and the story of how the bearer brought it, might have another effect,
which, although he had no right to expect, was never absent from
Dickory's soul. This ardent young lover did not believe in Master Martin
Newcombe. He had no good reason for not believing in him, but his want
of faith did not depend upon reason. If lovers reasoned too much, it
would be a sad world for many of them.

When the Revenge stopped in her progress towards the heavenly Island of
Jamaica, or at least that island which was the abode of an angel, and
anchored off Charles Town harbour, South Carolina, Dickory fumed and
talked impatiently to his friend Ben Greenway. Why a man, even though he
were a pirate, and therefore of an avaricious nature, should want more
booty, when his vessel was already crowded with valuable goods, he could
not imagine.

But Ben Greenway could very easily imagine. "When the spirit o' sin is
upon ye," said the Scotchman, "the more an' more wicked ye're likely to
be; an' ye must no' forget, Dickory, that every new crime he commits,
an' a' the property he steals, an' a' the unfortunate people he maroons,
will hae to be answered for by ye, Dickory, when the time comes for ye
to stand up an' say what ye hae got to say about your ain sins. If ye
had stood by me an' helped to cut him short in his nefarious career, he
might now be beginnin' a new life in some small coastin' vessel bound
for Barbadoes."

Dickory gave an impatient kick at the mast near which he was standing.
"It would have been more likely," said he, "that before this he would
have begun a new life on the gallows with you and me alongside of him,
and how do you suppose you would have got rid of the sin on your soul
when you thought of his orphan daughter in Jamaica?"

"Your thoughts are too much on that daughter," snapped Greenway, "an'
no' enough on her father's soul."

"I am tired of her father's soul," said Dickory. "I wonder what new
piece of mischief they are going to do here; there are no ships to be
robbed?"

Dickory did not know very much, or care very much about the sea and its
commerce, and some ships to be robbed soon made their appearance. One
was a large merchantman, with a full cargo, and the other was a bark,
northward bound, in ballast. The acquisition of the latter vessel put a
new idea into Captain Bonnet's head. The Revenge was already overloaded,
and he determined to take the bark as a tender to relieve him of a
portion of his cargo and to make herself useful in the business of
marooning and such troublesome duties.

Being now commander of two vessels, which might in time increase to a
little fleet, Captain Bonnet's ideas of his own importance as a terror
of the sea increased rapidly. On the Revenge he was more despotic and
severe than ever before, while the villain who had been chosen to
command the tender, because he had a fair knowledge of navigation, was
informed that if he kept the bark more than a mile from the flag-ship,
he would be sunk with the vessel and all on board. The loss of the bark
and some men would be nothing compared to the maintenance of discipline,
quoth the planter pirate.

Bonnet's ambition rose still higher and higher. He was not content with
being a relentless pirate, bloody if need be, but he longed for
recognition, for a position among his fellow-terrors of the sea, which
should be worthy of a truly wicked reputation. A pirate bold, he would
consort with pirates bold. So he set sail for the Gulf of Honduras, then
a great rendezvous for piratical craft of many nations. If the father of
Kate Bonnet had captured and burned a dozen ships, and had forced every
sailor and passenger thereupon to walk a plank, he would not have sinned
more deeply in the eyes, of Dickory Charter than he did by thus
ruthlessly, inhumanly, hard-heartedly, and altogether shamefully
ignoring and pitilessly passing by that island on which dwelt an angel,
his own daughter.

But Bonnet declared to the young man that it would now be dangerous for
him and his ship to approach the harbour of Kingston, generally the
resort of British men-of-war, but in the waters of Honduras he could not
fail to find some quiet merchant ship by which he could send a message
to his daughter. Ay! and in which--and the pirate's eye glistened with
parental joy as this thought came into his mind--he might, disguised as
a plain gentleman, make a visit to Mistress Kate and to his good
brother-in-law, Delaplaine.

So Dickory was now to be satisfied, and even to admit that there might
be some good common sense in these remarks of that most uncommon pirate,
Captain Bonnet.

So the Revenge, with her tender, sailed southward, through the fair
West-Indian waters and by the fair West-Indian isles, to join herself to
the piratical fleet generally to be found in the waters of Honduras.




CHAPTER XIV

A GIRL TO THE FRONT


The days were getting very long at Spanish Town, although there were no
more hours of sunlight than was usual at the season; and even the
optimism of Dame Charter was scarcely able to brighten her own soul,
much less that of Kate Bonnet, who had almost forgotten what it was to
be optimistic. Poor Mr. Delaplaine, whose life had begun to cheer up
wonderfully since the arrival of his niece and her triumphant entry into
the society of the town, became more gloomy than he had been since the
months which followed the death of his wife. Over and over did he wish
that his brother-in-law Bonnet had long since been shut up in some place
where his eccentricities could do no harm to his fellow-creatures,
especially to his most lovely daughter.

Mistress Kate Bonnet was not a girl to sit quietly under the tremendous
strain which bore upon her after the departure of the Badger. How could
she be contented or even quiet at any moment, when at that moment that
heartless Captain Vince might have his sword raised above the head of
her unfortunate father?

"Uncle," she said, "I cannot bear it any longer, I must do something."

"But, my dear," he asked, looking down upon her with infinite affection,
"what can you do? We are here upon an immovable island, and your father
and Captain Vince are sailing upon the sea, nobody knows where."